A Case Study
by PimRadical
Summary: A chronicle of Derek & Casey's relationship and how they come to understand each other, mostly from Derek's perspective. Begins with their high school years and progresses through college. Some conflict, some fluff, and just a lil bit of steam.
1. Year 1: A Strange Relationship

They tiptoed around each other. After the initial week of testing the waters and learning boundaries, they were at each other's throats and had been ever since. Of course the family was aware of the rivalry - it was impossible to ignore - but they didn't see all of it. They didn't see that for Casey, it was an...investigation of sorts. She _knew_ that Derek was not all that he appeared to be; he was much more complex and intelligent than anyone gave him credit for. There was something hidden in him that she felt compelled to discover, and though his haughty and immature pretenses kept her at bay, she would never give up on him. She was a learner, after all: she wanted to learn him.

They didn't see that, for Derek, it was more than a game of irritation. It was inexplicable, the way her simultaneous studiousness and rebellion fascinated him. The girl was a contradiction of herself and he couldn't keep from marveling at the details of her paradox, infuriating infatuation. He poked and he prodded to discover more, to get _close_ to her. How he loved to be _close_ to her. He had never even been aware of it, but he found himself touching her at every chance, like magnetism, a natural law that he obeyed without question.

Their family saw the surface tension, but they were oblivious to the true motives. So too, of course, were Casey and Derek. Doomed from the start, they held onto their childish games for as long as they could. And as they got older, they knew that the innocence of it was gone, that they'd crossed too many boundaries to go back to a state of normalcy. Over the years, they had come to know each other better than anyone else would ever be able, irreversibly. But here's what it was like in the beginning, when all they knew was that each couldn't manage to keep away from the other:

"Case, since it's summer and your brain has atrophied without any coursework to keep you occupied, I'll forgive this one infraction, but you're gonna have to get out of here."

"What are you talking about?"

"The porch. Notice that the only way of passage is through my room? S'cause it's part of _my_ room. _My _domain. No Space Cases out here, and that's for your own good. Wouldn't want Klutzilla slipping on her own tanning lotion and pitching herself over the railing." Or would he? No, she'd definitely find a way to blame him.

"Put away the classic territoriality. I already took it up with George. He says the porch is public domain. Venturi's _and_ McDonald's welcome...though I'd prefer private use, if you don't mind."

"Oh sure, the girl that comes traipsing through _my _room demands privacy! How rich." He snapped the strap of her tank top as she glared up at him, straining desperately in an effort to be imposing. He grinned. Her defiance was half the reason he challenged her. The other half was the pure satisfaction of beholding The Pout. There are many variations: irritated and disgusted pout, sad and dramatic pout, and, his personal favorite, blushing angry pout.

"Derek, I must say I'm impressed! _Traipsing_. I see Mrs. Kern's efforts in inspiring you to expand your vocabulary weren't entirely wasted, after all. Kudos. Now, from one intellectual to another, please step aside. I just want a peaceful spot to read."

"Here's a free lesson, Case: don't condescend when you attempt flattery. You're terrible enough at lying as it is. Why don't you just go to the library? You practically live there anyway."

"Library hours are shortened in the summer months. You'd know that if you had ever actually set foot in one."

"Sounds about as likely as me letting you trespass. This is sacred ground...sacred, keener-free ground."

"File your complaints with George, then, Derek. That porch swing looks particularly inviting, thank you."

He reached for her arm as she walked by him, but put his hand in his pocket instead. Touching Casey was dangerous if there were no witnesses present. He tended to get carried away if they were alone.

But hell, he couldn't help himself. Derek lunged for her shoulders, whipping her around and pinning her against the wall. Her gasp of shock filled his head. Sometimes she was dizzying, but this was a mere side-effect. It was exhilarating to look into her eyes. In moments like these, they always confessed what she would never speak aloud. That she was at his mercy. That he was in control. That she liked the feeling of giving in, no matter how much she didn't want to. Those eyes, such a clear and piercing blue, were falsely defiant, patiently coaxing him to make another move. Did she even know what she was doing to him?

He didn't stay to find out, grabbing the book from her and laughing as he ran downstairs. She took chase, of course, as she always did.

"De-rek, you immature little - ugh!" She yelled behind him, flying down the stairs and crashing into his chair before sputtering and regaining her balance, taking off once more, "What's your goal here, seriously?"

He didn't know. There was no goal. He was simply abiding by the laws of nature, not really knowing what came next or why.

And those really were the best of times. A hot summer, long days, endless excuses to touch and torment her while his behavior was still permissible by the phrase, "boys will be boys."

"That's ridiculous," he remembered her saying, "you _boys_ should strive to be more mature, like me and Lizzie."

"Go easy on them Casey, they're still learning what it's like to live with girls in the house," Nora graciously provided, still filling up water balloons for the 'family fun day' she and George were hosting in the backyard. Derek grinned, regarding his munitions. Casey would have something else to complain about soon enough.

"Yeah, cut us some slack, Case. You expect things _not_ to get a little muddy when a slip n slide is involved?"

"Derek, you _intentionally_ and _directly _smeared mud on my face!"

"Well? It's fun to get a little dirty," He smirked. Derek hadn't intended it, but his gaze fell on Casey as he spoke. Her hair was wet from washing, curling and sticking to the red straps of her bikini top. That was his fault; she'd had to rinse out the mud clumps. The colors there held his gaze, the teasing bows tied over each shoulder. Everything about her taunted him without relent.

"Maybe for a pig such as yourself, sure," She retorted, cornering him with a water balloon in hand, "but just wait until I wipe you clean off the board in this balloon war."

"Since when did this become a competition?" Nora asked, exasperated by the bickering, but Casey had already stormed out into the yard to join Marti at the sprinkler.

"Oh, it always has been," Derek smiled, following Casey out back.

She ended up with welts on her stomach, which she really should have anticipated. Who wears a two-piece to a water balloon war? Still, it was endlessly gratifying to watch the balloons burst open against the taut skin of her belly and legs. For this reason, she was really his only target, as he was to her. Derek was delighted to learn that she was just as intensely competitive as himself, which made the idea of her defeat all the more enticing.

At one point, the initial chaos of the fight blossomed into a beautiful game of strategy, in which Casey rolled over the kiddy table to form a small but sturdy barricade. This attracted the allegiance of Lizzie, who simply didn't want to get hit by anyone. This naturally prompted Edwin to pair up with his elder brother, bringing the small offering of a beach umbrella. It wasn't impressive, as far as barricades go, but it'd do in a pinch. Marty ran back and forth between the two stalwart stations, just enjoying her time as the youngest and therefore least likely to become target.

"Step out from the barricade, cowards, and fight us in straight line warfare!" Derek demanded, rising from behind the umbrella.

"Like men!" Edwin added. But the girls didn't emerge. The table, however, did start to gradually creep forward, and soon the boys found themselves being charged by the kiddie table, a screaming pair of sisters emerging and attacking them in full force. Many blows were suffered, though some fell to the ground ineffectually, and soon they were depleted of munitions.

"Lizzie, charge Edwin!" Casey screamed, heading for Derek with open arms before he could fully register the attack and launch his balloons. They were in the mud in mere seconds.

"I've got Derek, Lizzie, destroy their supply!" Casey yelled, pinning Derek into the mud. And there arose a very formidable problem for Derek. Casey was stronger than he had imagined, or perhaps she'd gone easy on him in their previous battles for dominance over television stations. Regardless, she was strong enough to hold him, and this was a very bad situation. He was wrestling...in the mud...with _Casey. _Apart from the terrible reality of her warm tanned skin against his, she was also verbally berating him, which really was taking it too far in his opinion.

"Here's your chance to surrender, _oh mighty Derek._" Casey laughed. He had the satisfaction of hearing her, breathless, to affirm that he was at least posing some sort of challenge.

"You know I never surrender, princess," he bit back, rolling Casey onto her back and pinning her with a knee and his palms. He hadn't expected this and, quite honestly, wasn't prepared to handle the situation. Not with her hot pliant body, smelling like sunscreen and sweat, beneath him in the mud. Suddenly, the idea of an empty yard seemed very appealing.

"Derek, help! Lizzie's a lot stronger than she looks!" Edwin called out, but Derek was preoccupied with a very squirmy and muddy Casey, battling thoughts about how easy it would be to accidentally undo the ties on her two piece. He needed to get away from her.

"Get off, hockeyhead, you're _hurting _me!" Casey squealed, trying her best to overturn him but finding no vantage from the muddy ground below.

"_You_ started this," he grunted, rolling her onto her stomach with a forceful hand. He had begun pulling her back up against him and dragging the pair of them upright when George finally looked up from the grill.

"Hey, hey, enough!" He yelled, and they all halted. Derek didn't think to release Casey, purely for precautionary reasons, of course.

"De-rek! Let go of me _this. instant," _Casey whisper-yelled as George lectured them. She was bound and determined to see him laid low, so he kept his arms snaked around her midsection. She never stopped struggling.

"No way," he whispered in her ear, "you can't be trusted."

"This is supposed to be family _fun_, not a war! And Derek, let your sister go." George had nearly exhausted his speech by now.

"_Step-_sister," the pair of them said in unison, if only loud enough for each other to hear.

They had a beautiful thing in the beginning, before the Inquisition, a period that Derek recognized as the worst in Derek and Casey history. It changed everything. Before the Inquisition, he didn't have to question _why_ he did the things that he did to get under her skin, he just knew that it made him happy and inexplicably satisfied when he truly got to her. But people started noticing: parents and siblings first, and then friends, and then (the worst) Casey herself. And they all wanted to know _why?_ As if he had an explanation.

"What is it about Casey, man? You can't leave her alone. I mean, you look at her like you want to tear her head off." Sam had been particularly curious about the whole thing. In fact, his best friend was - quite sadly - the leader of the Inquisition. Derek's response was usually of the nonchalant variety, a quick shrug of the shoulders and a flippantly vague, "Beats me," usually did the trick. It never satisfied anyone, but these responses were typical from Derek and people move on when you give them little to work with.

Who was he to define it, anyway? His strange relationship with Casey was a happy mystery to him, and he was content to leave it that way. But curiosity doesn't quit, and people started stating instead of asking.

"You and Casey have a...strange relationship." He'd come to hear this phrase countless times. He'd sigh and say something along the lines of, "Casey's a strange person; I doubt she'd be capable of anything that constitutes a 'normal' relationship." For some reason, it always shut them up sooner if he was eating something, so he'd taken to carrying apples in his pockets. Casey question? Easy to handle: short, quipped reply followed by a hearty bite of the blood red fruit. That always made it clear that he was ready to move on to a different subject.

But after a while, the beauty of not knowing was lost and it couldn't be salvaged. After everyone started asking, it became real for the both of them, and they wanted to know the answers, too. Well, at least he did, secretly. It was pointless to question it, and he resented everyone for pointing it out, but he couldn't go back to the blissfully ignorant days where he would make her squeal and squirm just because he _wanted_ to, and leave it at that. He never gave up on inspiring the squeals and squirms - that would defy the natural law - but he would never again bask in the simple satisfaction of it. Derek would walk away from her, questioning, _why did I just do that? _He'd only begun to suspect the answer.


	2. Year 2: Tug o' War

Casey always had a perfection complex, and it hadn't taken Derek long to understand why. After living with her for about a year, he had developed a fine attunement to the infinitesimal shifts in her personality. Personali_ties_, really. There was Casey Unperturbed, who was almost eerily serene, an appeased faerie who'd given up mischief for the time being. She became a different person when she was reading a book or writing in her journal, dancing in the kitchen or singing to herself in the shower, in a world apart. Whenever she thought she was alone. The problem, he realized, was that she was in a world so separate and idyllic that she was continuously and minutely unsatisfied with reality. Thus originated the checklists and obsessive planning, the nagging and attention to detail, which were all telltale signs that you were dealing with Commander Casey. She thought that if she did everything to the highest standard, maybe she could change her reality to favor her ideals. In a small and silent way — and despite his own annoyance — Derek admired her militant optimism, inspiring action and thought.

Casey, in turn, noticed that Derek shared her dissatisfaction. He avoided expressing it the way she did; he adopted the image of a slacker. It was one of many roles that he could play, but it was the role that everyone accepted and expected most. None of his friends at school had ever thought to look beneath the perfectly crafted persona of Slacker Derek. But Casey could see, in small glimpses, Dreamer Derek (the descriptors she chose for him were decidedly cornier than the ones he chose for her, but alas). Dreamer Derek resided behind the lens of a camera, jotting down dialogue between two characters in a notepad, or scratching rough panel sketches of a comic idea on a napkin at work. In a small and silent way, Casey admired his ability to create quietly, protecting his true self by keeping precious secrets.

Slowly, unbeknownst to either of them, they developed an understanding of each other's facades and habits. In this stage of their strange relationship, the easiest way to recognize the mutual understanding they shared involved a lot of subtextual communication between quarrels. Derek, the filmmaker, was all-too-familiar with subtext — a trait that he should have anticipated sharing with Casey, the avid literary geek — and it quickly became their main mode of communication. In any interaction, they never paid too much attention to words, for the definite truth was always in the actions.

* * *

"You're just doing this because you like the power play. Well, I won't give you the satisfaction this time, Derek. Do your worst."

"Bold words for someone who's about to lose their favorite day planner to the infernal maw of the wood stove."

The whole family had taken vacation at a ski lodge.

"Good idea! I _am _feeling a little chilly. The paper will make good kindling for a fire. While we're at it, why don't we add the latest installment of that comic you've been reading?" Casey taunted, using one of his true weaknesses: the sticky-sweet good girl voice. Feigned innocence.

"If only I could find it," Derek bit back, his expression betraying his stoic air for a second, "what a shame."

"Oh, _here _it is! What was it doing in my suitcase? Hmm, now there's something to ponder."

"I _knew _you had it! Now fair's fair, Case. Do we have a trade?"

"Trade? Why? I'm cold, Derek," she grinned, her sweet and innocent tone the farthest thing from her malicious grin as she crept over to him and held the comic inches from the flames. He could think of other ways to warm her, but he was far from voicing them.

"Casey, you may want to consider the line you're about to cross," he spoke low, dangerously, successfully conveying his threat.

"Considering… and _yep_, still cold. On the count of three?"

"One," she whispered.

"Two," a hush. Derek shook his head.

"Thr-" she was on her back, the air leaving her lungs and falling against the concave place between Derek's neck and shoulder.

He wasted no time in restraining her, throwing his comic safely to the side and taking her wrists in his hands. He wore a triumphant grin, as usual, but there was a difference.

Casey was quiet. She was watching him. Watching, not kicking or screaming or promising retribution. Her blue eyes - _damn_ those eyes, why couldn't she have grey eyes, green eyes, brown eyes, anything else but that deep and complex blue? - questioned and challenged him. She was otherwise expressionless, save her parted lips, but those wide eyes betrayed her. She'd never speak aloud what they told him without breath, without words.

"There's a storm coming," Casey said in an uncharacteristically serious, un-shrill tone.

He just looked at her, cocking his head to the side and furrowing his brow. Now that was a new one, not what he had expected.

"A blizzard. It's on the TV. We should join the others in the main cabin before it gets here."

He let go of her, helped her up, even. They both knew they shouldn't have been so close. It was an unspoken boundary that they usually respected, each for their own reasons, but there was something about the snow outside and the warmth between them that made them push at familiar restrictions.

Soon, it was forgotten. On the way to the big cabin, Derek made snowballs to throw at her back and Casey tried to push him in the snow. The usual push and pull re-established.

* * *

Really, their whole relationship could be summed up by a handy tug-o-war analogy. Casey and Derek stood, decidedly, on opposite ends of the rope in every possible situation. They rarely shared the same goal, and in the occasion that they wanted the same thing, working together wasn't an option until it became absolutely necessary.

* * *

"Edwin," Casey said after some deliberation, glaring at Derek, "wanna make a trade? Your sheep for my ore." Derek smirked back at her, unaffected. The moment she pulled Settlers of Catan from the game chest, he had a feeling for how this night was going to go. Casey always played with the traditional family loyalties when it came to board game night. She was good at it, too, sweet-talking Edwin and dancing around the unspoken McDonald-Venturi borders. But Derek knew her weak points. He nudged Ed's knee under the table. Ed shook his head apologetically.

"De-rek! I saw that! There are no alliances in this game; you can't manipulate Edwin into withholding deals!" Casey erupted from across the table, indignant.

"I don't know what you're talking about, princess."

"Yes, you most definitely do. This game is only fair when everyone makes trades with each other. No. Teams!"

"Then why don't you ever ask me to trade, Case, if you're so concerned about fairness?"

"Because you don't have what I want," Casey bit back, losing momentum as she realized what she was saying. Derek smirked at her blush. He'd caught her.

"That's where you're wrong," He spread his cards out over the table, if only to prove his point, "I've got it all." The devilish smile was what caught her off guard, maybe, or perhaps it was the way he leaned back in his chair upon the delivery of those last couple words, but for some reason, Casey couldn't find a reply.

"Fine," she finally assented, making the trade with him, "But don't think this means you can encroach on my territory now, Derek."

"Hey, it's all free game. What's mine is yours, what's yours is mine." He winked, she sneered, they both shifted in their seats.


	3. Year 3: Love Square?

**A/N:** This chapter involved some mental rehashing (on my part) of the various romantic relationships our main characters have undertaken during the course of the show. I only _really_ remember the Kendra/Max era, which (maybe) overlapped (?) so that's what I'm running with here. I figure if you're still reading Dasey fics at this point (keep fighting the good fight!) you probably don't care all that much about consuming a strictly purist appreciation of the series' canon, but I'm just providing a warning for the "NO, that was season 2!" commenters before they hit the review section. I already invented a fake porch that can only be accessed through Derek's room for the purposes of this story, so I hope that's not the sort of thing that bothers y'all :) Anyhow, enjoy the installment! It's a direct product of my mandatory social distancing period and I am NOT complaining.

One more thing, if you're interested: Derek would definitely sit in his room and fuel his Casey pining sessions by listening to "Can't Change Me" by Chris Cornell (rest in peace) on loop. Do with that what you will.

* * *

Derek's least favorite thing about living and going to school with Casey, other than her Casey-ness, was being made to endure the reality of other guys' attraction to her. It was an overwhelming reality, and it became especially unwelcome whenever she started dating someone. Derek chose to see Casey's dating habits strictly as, at a baseline, bringing the poor saps who drooled over her during class into their family home. This choice was quite convenient, as it allowed him to justify his hostile territorialism and avoid any introspection that involved questions of jealousy and personal desire. Commendable work, really.

The unaddressed tension and underlying attraction between Derek and Casey, however, dictated that any relationship either of them entered immediately become a love triangle. In the case that both were dating at the same time, which wasn't exactly rare, the geometric graph of pining grew to entangle at least four parties at a time. It went about as follows: Max liked Casey, who liked Max but couldn't shake the strange feelings she had come to associate with her step-brother, nemesis, and housemate. Kendra liked Derek, who was (admittedly) quite attracted to Kendra, but also dreamed about his step-sister almost nightly, and pointedly avoided the bathroom whenever she took a shower. Doomed from the start, on all accounts.

Derek, on relationship cruise control, was used to cycling regularly through make-out partners and even the occasional girlfriend. None of his flings had ever made him question his sanity as much as his relationship with Kendra, and (regrettably) not for the supposed Kendra-related reasons. Because he really did like Kendra, even after all of the manipulation and games were taken into account. She was fun and cute, and she didn't like Casey (bonus). Sure, she loved drama, but she was _easy_, a nice reprieve from a very difficult girl he was intimately acquainted with. But then she started saying things like this:

"You need to stop worrying so much about Casey."

Derek had been ranting about the moral degeneracy of their school's football team and its members. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy a little depravity himself, but such firm allegiance to the quintessential American sport? Blasphemous, of course, and weak.

"What are you talking about?"

"She's a big girl, Derek. Frankly, it's kind of weird how much you—"

Not wanting to hear what was at the end of that accusation, Derek interjected, "Who said anything about the Space Case? I was talking about Max. You know I don't like football jocks."

"It's the _way_ you were talking about Max. Like he's _dangerous_, like he's gonna bruise your precious step-sister."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Precious? I've called Casey a lot of things, but _precious_? Are we even having the same conversation right now?" Derek sighed internally. It was gonna take a lot of effort to throw her off the Casey scent trail. He'd been sloppy; he didn't think she actually cared what he was talking about.

"Okay fine, let's dial it back. I just don't understand like… why do you care who she's dating?" Kendra uncrossed her legs, sitting up straight. This was Derek's cue that they were entering Serious Talk territory.

"It's not the _who_, it's the _what_. He's a turf-eater. Pretty soon he'll be in my house meeting the parents and I'll be forced to break bread with him." He gave a shrug and reclined, hoping to make a casual show of nonchalance.

"If that's the concern, why were you talking about his track record with girls? As if you're one to talk, first of all. Right? I mean, I'm just putting that out there. It just seems to me like this has more to do with Casey than the whole football/hockey rivalry."

"She's _kinda_ the adjacent party in all this, is she not? Not just adjacent, she is the _direct_ cause."

"Okay, Derek. Sure," Kendra sighed and crossed her legs again.

"Sure?"

"I'm just saying, from my end of things, I'm getting tired of hearing about Casey all the time. It's like… becoming a problem." She had pulled her phone from the pocket of her purse before she finished speaking, thumbs flying over the keypad.

* * *

Things with Kendra didn't last long after that conversation, but things with Max… did. He was Casey's first serious boyfriend, and as consequence, the whole residence was privy to the emotional highs and lows of their relationship. Casey would be all bouncy and blushy at breakfast only to mope downstairs for dinner the same day. Being herself, she wasn't exactly discrete about how she was feeling — if Max made Casey feel jealous, or giddy, or angry, the whole family was made to feel it, too. Everyone seemed to be okay with this, if minutely annoyed. Derek, on the other hand, felt like he was being cruelly forced to experience female puberty. Seeing this as little more than a violation of his personal dignity, he decided to retaliate:

"Diary, I'm _crestfallen,_" Derek orated, slowly descending the stair into a full living room, save George and Nora, who were out on a date. Four heads swiveled around from the sofa to ascertain the meaning of his disturbance.

"Max is gorgeous, and I truly believe he has the potential to be my life's great love, but I've been having these moments of doubt..." Derek clutched his chest, falling dramatically against the wall. It was about here that Casey realized what was happening, spotting the fuzzy periwinkle journal that he held open like a manuscript, as if he were rehearsing his lines.

"What," Casey hissed, rising slowly from her seat, "do you think you're doing?"

"Something's missing between us, some failure between our hearts," Derek continued, ignoring her protest outright and stepping slowly down the stairs, "I do love him. His gaze holds me..." Had his voice just broken or did he imagine it? He cleared his throat.

"Give that. To me." Casey bit out, taking deliberate steps toward him, her movements sharp, her body charged like a spring. Derek couldn't even look at her. He was...angry? Yes, definitely angry, but there was some other feeling wreaking havoc in his heart. Something that made his throat tighten and his cheeks red, something that made the backs of his hands itch.

"But I noticed something after we shared a kiss in the hallway yesterday," Derek sneered, suddenly and unpredictably vindictive. She had already felt all this, she'd written it down. Why did he want her to feel it again? He continued, "He looks at every other girl the exact. Same. Way."

He didn't resist as she charged him and snatched her diary back, didn't flinch at the small sound of her crying or the falls of her feet against the stairs as she ran to her room and slammed the door.

"Dude." Edwin was the first to speak up, "Not cool." Derek stood still where she left him, sort of surprised by the whole situation. He somehow couldn't find it in himself to regret his actions, to want to take it all back. Relief wasn't the right word for it, but there was some dark release in reading those words out loud. Not because Casey needed to be reminded, but because he needed her to know that he _knew_.

"What? We have to sit and listen to her gush over the dinner table all the time, why the sudden need for privacy?" Derek retorted, feeling as if he was playing a part. Sometimes he hated being this indignant.

"You need to apologize to her. Like, now. You realize that, right?" Lizzie piped up, mostly looking peeved about his interruption of the movie they'd all been watching. Marti just shrugged at him. Yeah...he knew they were right. He needed to at least talk to her, but turning around and taking the steps to her room felt physically impossible.

But he managed.

"Knock knock," Derek opened the door to Casey's room, hovering at her borders. There was something in that, in tiptoeing around her, in knowing that he was unwelcome. It was tempting, a bubble he wanted to break.

"Go. Away." Her voice came to him wet from tears and muffled by her pillow. Okay, ouch. Her body was nestled in a valley of pillows and blankets, the curve of her hip rising above the crests and folds of fabric. He felt like an intruder and liked it. He sort of wanted to wrap her up in his arms and force her to forgive him, which was a surprising desire, but not an unwelcome fantasy. Simultaneously, he wanted to pull her out of bed by her ankle and incite a pillow war. He did neither.

"Oh poetess, won't you allow a humble patron such as myself to sit at thy bedside and beg thy forgiveness?" Derek watched her shift beneath her bedding, positioning himself at the edge of her bed and preparing to react to any sudden movements. A pillow sailing for his head, perhaps, or a leg flying toward his stomach.

"You're a wretch, and I hate you," her voice was still muffled, but she peeked over her pillow at his offending form, watching him cautiously descend onto her mattress.

"Aye, the blow stricken by thy sharp tongue is well deserved—"

"If you came to apologize, just get it over with," she cut him off, propping herself up on her elbows to deliver a proper glare. Instead of recoiling, he leaned in, reaching for her closest hand and trying to dismiss the optimal display of cleavage she'd just achieved in rising up on her forearms. Tricky, tricky.

"Prithee madam, abide my speech, for I—"

"Okay, get out of my room," Casey rose quickly to her knees, fumbling over her own pillows and pushing feebly at his shoulders, igniting with new rage as a grin of amusement broke across his face.

"Humblest of apologies for my offensive manner, m'lady, I am but vermin beneath thy foot…" Derek continued, allowing himself to be pushed off the bed and towards the door. In truth, he liked being handled by her.

"Wait, wait," Derek slowed her, watching her face and trying to catch himself in the brightness of her eyes. She was holding him by the shoulders, pushing him back.

"Well?" She asked, finally daring to look up at him. He had wanted her to do that so badly, to just look at him. But was she seeing what he was feeling? Was he allowing her to get that close? Her words ran through his head, as they would for weeks to come, "His gaze holds me." He wanted Casey to feel _held _by him, and not just held but grasped to and by, ensnared and ensnaring. Every time they met eyes it felt like an embrace to him.

Searching for the right words to say, wishing there were fewer barriers between them, he could only manage this: "Really Case, I… I know I shouldn't have done that." He clung to the frame of her door, hoping she'd allow him to float there in her bubble just a little bit longer.

But she released him, turning her back to him and breaking the hold.

"Whatever," Casey sighed, not looking at him, "You should stick to a script in the future, by the way. Your improvised middle english is abhorrent. Close the door, will you?"

* * *

His true apology (and her true forgiveness) didn't come until later, a few months after Max and Casey called it quits. Casey's Dad was supposed to visit, but he had just phoned in to cancel. She knew, rationally, that it wasn't her fault, but she always wondered if things would have been different if she was better in some way. More relaxed, maybe, more like him. But how could a father expect his daughter to follow an example he'd never really been around to set?

No reasoning would make sense, but it was still hard to stop overthinking. She curled up on the couch and turned the TV on to serve as a distraction, kicking a new pair of purple heels off and pulling a blanket over her lap. The front door opened.

"Casey? I thought Dennis was taking you out tonight," Derek called from the entryway, hanging his jacket and running his fingers through his hair to shake the snow out before stepping over to the blanket bundle mutant on the couch.

"Oh…" he said in a more hushed tone. She looked up at him from her refuge, her blue eyes rimmed with running mascara and eyeliner. So, Casey's eyes were pretty when she cried. That was...very inconvenient, he had to admit, but he had been slowly coming to accept it.

"Sorry if you made plans," she whispered, her broken voice somewhat muffled by the blanket. She remembered that he'd made a joke earlier about having the house to himself for the night, "I can go up to my room."

Derek stood silently in front of her for a moment, his arms crossing over his chest. He had indeed made "plans." "Plans" were about to arrive in twenty minutes, in the shape of a new girl he had been seeing and a rented horror movie.

"No, I don't think that'll do…" he feigned casual perplexion, stroking his stubbled chin (which he was very proud of, by the way.)

"What?" Casey perked up a little. She was always overly curious, she just couldn't resist his games. He smiled, unable to hide his strange affection for her.

"Well, from what I understand, you were promised a visit to Kaladi's tonight, and I'm pretty sure they don't have a pop-up cafe in your room," He grinned, holding out his hand for her to take. Casey laughed despite her wet cheeks and stuffy nose, allowing Derek to pull her out of her cocoon. He expected to be weakened by her eyes and her laugh; he'd grown used to their debilitating power, though he was far from immune. What he hadn't expected was the natural, complete feeling of her hand in his. Hm, how simple. There's that last jigsaw piece he'd been looking for, now who kicked it under the table?


End file.
